


When the Lark Ceases to Sing

by hayjolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayjolras/pseuds/hayjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine goes off to fight at the barricades. Disapproving, yet fearful for her girlfriend, Cosette joins the fight, as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Lark Ceases to Sing

“Where are you going?”

Éponine let out a sigh, turned around slowly, and saw Cosette at the doorway. She was in one of her nightgowns — the white flowered one. She always looked pretty, even at night. She sounded angry, though. Deadly serious, even.

“Where do you  _think_  I’m going?” replied Éponine, looking down at her outfit. Her chest was bound up, and she was covering that with a men’s shirt (one of Marius’s), which was half-buttoned. She’d been buttoning up the buttons when Cosette had interrupted her.

Cosette knit her eyebrows, her blue eyes narrowed at the girl in men’s garb standing before her. “You’re not going to help them,” she said flatly. “I won’t let you.”

Doing up the rest of the buttons, Éponine sighed again. “Cosette.” She tried to sound reasonable, but the twinge of annoyance still slipped into her tone.

“Éponine.”

“You know I told you Enjolras said —”

Stamping her foot on the floor, Cosette cried out, “Do you think I  _care_  what on earth that boy said? Let him have his revolution. Let him and his friends play this silly little game —”

“This isn’t a  _game_ , Cosette!” Éponine shouted back, her voice reverberating in her small, practically empty, apartment. This is where she lived, with her parents. This is where Cosette had found her, one day, after seeing her across the road. This very same apartment, as gross and cold and broken as it was, was where they fell in love, had their first kiss…

Cosette crossed her arms. “A game or not, it’s all the same to —”

“Do you see this?” Éponine asked, waving her arms around her. “This is my home, and it will continue to be my home —”

“I have eyes, Éponine. And a memory! I know how foul places — _people_ — can be,” Cosette said shortly, her eyes meeting Éponine’s.

The latter girl blushed. Of course Cosette remembered. It was stupid of Éponine to forget that. But it wasn’t stupid of her to go — no, this was a war Éponine had to fight in.  _Had_  to.

She slipped off her skirt and into trousers. “I’m going, Cosette, and I shall resent you for the rest of my life if you try to stop me — no, don’t cry, Cosette,” Éponine said, rushing over to hug the girl. “Don’t you let that pretty little mind of yours woe you —”

“ _You’re_  the one who’s giving me woe — not my  _head_! Oh, I wish you’d listen,” Cosette cried into Éponine’s chest.

“I’ll be alright — I’ve survived this far, haven’t I?” Éponine grinned, exposing the teeth she had left.

Cosette sniffed and lifted her head off Éponine’s tear-stained shirt. “Will you give me your word?”

“On what?”

“That you’ll come back — with no harm done to you?”

Éponine kissed Cosette’s forehead. “If you move past this doorway and let me go, I give you my word. I will come back, unharmed — is that alright?”

When Cosette nodded, Éponine let go of her. “You should leave, Cosette — and go carefully — someone might see you in that nightgown.”

Cosette lifted her chin. “I don’t mind.”

The two girls laughed, Cosette swallowing her fear, while Éponine started to truly feel it. What if she couldn’t keep her word? She couldn’t die knowing she’d broken her promise to Cosette.

Which meant she only had one option.

“ _Please_ ,” Cosette whispered imploringly before she slipped out of the room, reaching out to give Éponine’s hand a squeeze. “Be careful how you go.”

“I will.”

*   *   *

Cosette sat up all night, looking out the window of her and her father’s house. He’d been asleep when she’d paid her visit to Éponine, and hadn’t stirred, as usual, when she’d snuck back in. She shuddered to think what would happen if he did.

She could not sleep. She couldn’t even close her eyes — whenever she tried, she saw images of Eponine at the barricades…Éponine getting shot…Éponine covered in blood…Éponine…

Shaking her head to get the visions out of her mind, she opened her window  to try and get some fresh air, to clear her head…only that didn’t work, either. She thought about the city, not sleeping, preparing for the morning, for the funeral, and how Éponine was probably gone from her measly apartment already, gone to the café to join Enjolras and Marius and the rest of those bloody boys who had put those ideas about fighting into Éponine’s head.

Her Éponine, whose kisses were sweeter than Cosette could’ve ever imagined…her Éponine, who still laughed, despite her dark, cold life…her Éponine…who made her nights long…made her cry out in pleasure in the darkness…Éponine, who held her, warm in her arms…

Éponine was not theirs to keep, Cosette decided soundly. She wasn’t just another fighter for the boys, not another life to be thrown away, discarded like a rag doll. Would those stupid boys care if Éponine fell? Or would Cosette be the only one who wept…she imagined herself crouched over Éponine’s thin, fragile body, wailing, cursing God and those boys and the city of Paris and the King and all of France…anyone who would be responsible for Éponine’s death.

And herself? 

This thought startled her. What part would she, Cosette, the wild and brave — Éponine’s lark — have to play if she stood aside and let Éponine march to her death? Words meant nothing, and words would not protect Éponine at that barricade. Éponine was fierce, fearless, and could only be so careful.

_There’s no glory in death_ , Cosette thought as something dangerous filled her head,  _and there’s no glory in living if Éponine is gone_.

*   *   *

Cosette did not know where Éponine and the Amis where congregating for the funeral (The friends of the people! Cosette thought, disgusted. The only friend those boys have is death.), so she waited until she heard voices yelling outside to excuse herself to her room.

“I’ve a headache, is all,” she told Papa, who looked worried. “These people outside aren’t helping — I’m going to rest.”

She, however, did not go to her room, nor did she nap. Instead, she slipped into her father’s room, listening intently, in case he approached, and snatched a pair of trousers and a shirt from his wardrobe. They were rather large, so Cosette crept around, looking for a belt to hold the trousers up.

Arriving back into her room, she shut the door quietly, and got undressed. She saw no reason to bind her chest — it was small enough as it was, and her father’s shirt was so large that it didn’t seem to matter.

When she was finished, she gave herself a good, long look in the mirror. She looked like a boy — except for her long hair. Her father didn’t have any caps like the one Marius had undoubtably lent Éponine, and she certainly didn’t have one, either. All she had were flowered bonnets.

Which left one choice.

Getting into the kitchen was a bit trickier, especially in men’s clothing, but she managed to slip past the sitting room where her father was reading, trying to shut out the voices of the perturbed citizens of Paris.

Her heart was racing as she grabbed one of the knives out of the drawer, so loudly so that she was afraid her father would hear.

He heard nothing.

She got back to her room and cut up her hair — badly. Perhaps she should’ve put it into a braid and tried it that way, but it was no matter now. It was short enough to pass, and she highly doubted anyone would notice. Amongst all that fighting, no one would notice anything, really.

There were people still walking past her house as she climbed out the window, into the garden, and, opening the gate, walked out. She heard the roar of a revolution, or of the funeral, or of the boys who had seemed to upend it. She listened as she walked, knowing exactly where Éponine would be.

Éponine would listen to her, of course. Or, at the very least, she’d be so concerned about Cosette getting hurt that she would agree to leave with her, and they’d both get to safety at Éponine’s apartment, hopefully.

That was the plan, and Cosette ran it over through her head as she walked, until she reached the boys in front of that bloody café.  _I will not go unless Éponine agrees to leave with me…I will not leave…she’ll be angry_ , Cosette thought,  _but she’ll forgive me_.

When she arrived, everyone present was in the midst of building the barricades, even, Cosette noticed, a young boy. He was flitting back and forth between groups of people, dirty but joyous, oblivious to the fear. Or, perhaps, thrilled by it.

Cosette knew Éponine was here, and she was also aware that, if Éponine saw her now, before the fighting began, Éponine would force her to go home, and not go with her. So she made herself busy with a few boys she recognized vaguely — Combeferre and Courfeyrac, she believed their names were. Combeferre studied her as she helped them along, finding furniture, yet unable to lift anything except for the lighter things. She knew that he knew that he’d seen her before, somewhere, but she didn’t mind. If he realized who she was — well, she’d cross that path if she came to it.

He never said a word, though, either way, and Cosette was able to scan around the various men for Éponine, but couldn’t make her out. She decided she was back in the cafe, helping get supplies ready, but she still still checked every few minutes to make sure Éponine hadn’t suddenly appeared at the barricade itself.

*   *   *

They all seemed to wait for hours until the fighting started. She continued to help, and watched as a man was taken prisoner for being a spy.

It was the little boy who had pointed him out to Enjolras and Marius at some point late in the afternoon. The two boys had gone over, attacked the man, and brought him down to the basement of the cafe. Cosette observed the boy, who looked pleasantly pleased with himself.  
She’d seen that face before — but where?

*   *   *

Night fell, and almost everyone at the barricade held their breath as they waited for an attack. Some questioned when — now, early in the morning?

They didn’t speculate too long, though, as they heard the sound of marching and commands being given.

All at once, everyone seemed to flutter about, Enjolras yelling orders, people handing out guns, re-checking gun powder, as the voices

and marching grew louder. To Cosette, it sounded like death.  
“Hold your fire!” Enjolras shouted as the army approached the barricade. His normally angelic face had turned terrible. “Save the gunpowder!”

The army stopped. Both parties waited on either side of the barricade with baited breath, until the army officer broke the silence.

“Who’s there?”

There was pause that lasted a second, but felt like an eternity.

Then, Enjolras’s voice cried out in the darkness, boldly and without a quiver of fear —

“French revolution!”

The words fell like a death sentence upon Cosette’s ears as the brutal sounds of war commenced. There were cries of pain, bullets firing, guns being re-loaded, the clash of swords.

She had been given a gun of her own, only, God help her if she actually knew how to use it. So she stayed low, protected by the barricade, watching as Marius saved the little boy and Courfeyrac from certain death.

It was very valiant of him, but Cosette couldn’t help but think of Éponine. She couldn’t go and look for her now, with the air thick with gun residue (is that what that was?) and actual flying bullets.

Then she heard shouting. It was louder, more panicked than before.

It was Combeferre this time, who was shouting. She could barely hear him over the fighting, but she managed to make out the words,

“Climbing…Enjolras! They’re…the barricade!”

Processing this quickly, Cosette concluded that this meant that the army was trying to get over the barricade — which put her in harms way. Her heart pounded against her chest, telling her to flee, and her mind agreed.

She got up and tried to move — but it was so hard — it was nearly impossible to see…to watch your back, and —

That’s when she saw Éponine.

She was mere feet from Where Cosette stood. Her cap had fallen off, and her long, long hair was dirty, but she was fighting, setting off her gun and re-loading it with that familiar reckless abandon. She seemed to be in the clear, until Cosette spotted something else — the barrel of a rival gun, pointed at Éponine, and Éponine didn’t see —

Before Cosette could think twice, she leaped forward, putting one hand on the barrel on the gun and pulling it towards her. She placed her free hand right over the barrel as the on the other end pulled the trigger.

Cosette felt the bullet enter and exit her hand. It was a strange sensation — like nothing she’d ever felt before — and then she felt it hit her somewhere below her breasts — under her ribcage, maybe?

The force of the shot blew her off the barricade, and she fell, hitting her head hard on the pavement. She opened her eyes and looked frantically around for Éponine.

She was nowhere to be found.

Cosette raised her unwounded hand to her second wound on her torso. It felt wet from the blood, and it stung, along with her mutilated left hand. She thought she would be in shock of it all, but she wasn’t. She felt very aware of what had happened, and that Eponine was gone, and that she, Cosette, couldn’t seem to get up and find her.

Then she heard Marius’s voice. She was on the ground, practically curled up from the pain, when he bellowed —

“Fall back!”

He sounded angry, enraged. It didn’t sound like the good-natured boy Cosette had know, and yet, she could still recognize his voice.

“Fall back!” he cried again, “Or I blow the barricade!”

No one said anything for a moment.

Cosette looked still for Éponine. If the barricade blew up —

“Blow it and take yourself with it!” replied a voice not too far from where she was.

There was another short silence.

“And myself with it.”

The entire street seemed frozen, as if caught in time, waiting for the explosion.

A moment passed. Then another. And then a third.

The explosion did not come.

Cosette assumed the opposing side had backed off, the attack coming to a halt. Even through the pain she heard shouts, put no clashing or ringing. The hair cleared a bit, and she could breathe — barely, but this, she supposed, had to do with the pain inflicted upon her.

Cosette removed her hands from her wound and looked down. Blood was blossoming on her shirt, covering her hands. It was red and wet, and, oh, God, so much of it.

How am I going to get out of this? she wondered, hearing Enjolras call for a headcount. She tried to pick herself up to go and ask for assistance  but found she could not do so for very long.

Taking note of the barricade, which she hadn’t fallen too far away from, she crawled back to it, hoping someone would see her moving.

_Please_ , she thought.  _Let someone see me_.

There was a murmur of voices as Enjolras took a count. “We’re missing some!” he yelled.

Cosette let out a shaky breath.  _They know I’m gone_ , she said to herself.  _They know, they know, please —_

But Enjolras was yelling for someone named Jehan.

“They took him prisoner,” said a gruff voice, hushing Enjolras.

“Well,” Enjolras said, when he recovered from the news, and Cosette imagined him pacing back and forth, like Éponine had related in detail back to her. “We have our own prisoner. We offer them their own, we get ours back. I need a volun —”

Enjolras’s words were lost in the sound of a cry in the darkness. It was piercing, it was bold, ad the voice was saying, “Vive la revolution! Vive la revolution! Vive la —”

_Bang! Bang!_

The ringing of the shots were deafening, but no more deafening than the moments after, when the finality of death coaxed the street.

“Well,” Enjolras said, trying to keep his voice unmoving, but failing. “They just shot their prisoner.”

This was all too much for Cosette to handle. She was leaning against what she assumed to be the legs of a table, her shirt growing wetter by the minute — or maybe that was rain, and not blood — was it raining?

Cosette had just heard a man die, and she was dying, slipping away, her thoughts growing heavy…would she ever see Eponine again? Was she…was she alright?

“I’ll watch out for any injured,” said a familiar voice suddenly. It was the young boy Cosette had seen earlier. “If they need help, I’ll shout.”

“I’ll go with him,” chimed in another voice.

“Good, Éponine,” said Enjolras.

_Éponine_! Cosette thought, and it was the one thought that held her over. Éponine would find her, Éponine would. And then…she’d get help..and then…sleep…Cosette wanted to sleep, but not before Éponine got here…she was taking so long, though…and it was raining…her shirt was getting wet…

Finally, she opened her eyes to see someone standing over her. “I’ve found someone! Over here, left side of the barricade!”

Cosette felt her heart lift, which made her breathing more rapid, as Éponine crouched down. “It’s alright — we’ll get you up — we’re going to help you — what’s your name? Please, tell me your —”

“Éponine,” Cosette said weakly as she felt Éponine’s boney arms try to lift her,

Éponine stopped, startled.

She knew that voice.

“No,” Éponine whispered quietly. “ _No_ —”

“I tried to come here, see? To get you out — I knew you’d leave if you…knew I was in danger. You’d leave if I refused — only,” Cosette paused as she felt Éponine sit down and put Cosette’s head in her lap.

Éponine was shell shocked. In the light that the street lamp gave off, she could see Cosette, with a terrible haircut, her chestnut locks short and blunt — but, more importantly, Cosette was bleeding. Profusely. Éponine wasn’t sure whether to put her hands underneath

Cosette’s breasts, or apply pressure to her bloody hand.

“They had a gun — Éponine, it was aimed towards you — so I…yanked it away, I guess…and put my hand over it, thinking it wouldstop…the bullet.”

“We’re going to —” Éponine said, trying to stifle a small sob.  _Cosette saved me_ , she thought.  _I was stupid, and she saved me_.

“Cosette, open your eyes,” she said to the girl on her lap. “You’re going to be alright — we’re going to — _somebody_!” Eponine yelled, her eyes struggling to locate one of her friends.  _Why isn’t anyone coming_ , she thought,  _where has my brother gone to? It was stupid not to bring anyone else with us_ …

“Cosette,” she said when the girl had opened up her eyes at last. “Why would you —”

“I only wanted to help you…I knew…you wouldn’t be careful…”

“I would’ve!” Eponine cried, and she felt the tears roll, unstopping, down her cheeks. “I gave you my word — you shouldn’t have jumped in front of a gun! For _me_!”

“It’s no matter now, Éponine,” Cosette breathed, reaching to Éponine’s hand at the wound and pathetically tugging it away. “Just let it be…I thought I should die without seeing you again…but…you’re here…that’s all I need —”

“Don’t do that!” Éponine’s voice broke as she pulled her hand back over Cosette’s torso. “Stupid, foolish —”

“Don’t be angry at me, Éponine…please, not now…I only did it to protect you,” her pauses between words were growing longer, and her eyes were fluttering, but she was smiling, her gaze never leaving Éponine.

“I’m not angry at _you_!” Éponine cried, “I’m angry at  _me_!”

Cosette tried to laugh, but it came out as a sigh. “Don’t be cross at yourself, either…I came to find you…we’re both too strong-willed for our own good, don’t you think…? What’s done is done…and it’s raining now…see? I always liked the rain…”

“I know,” Éponine said in a shaky breath -- only, it wasn’t raining. Cosette was merely feeling Éponine’s tears fall onto her, mixed with her own blossoming blood. “You say it helps with the garden.”

“I always feel safe…in the garden…I…I always feel safe with you…don’t you cry, Éponine…Éponine?”

Éponine sniffed as she felt Cosette’s hands give hers a pathetic squeeze.

“I love you, Éponine.”

“I love you too, Cosette.”

“Will you….will you…kiss me when I am gone?”

“Of course.”

“You will….be….careful…won’t you? I…don’t…want to see you…anytime soon…”

“You have my word, Cosette.”

There was a pregnant pause where Cosette’s breath slowed, and Éponine sobbed, thinking her Cosette was gone. But then she heard a small gasp, and Cosette smiled for the final time, looking into Éponine’s eyes without seeing them, and she spoke —

“I am with God now, Éponine, do not fret…but not even these Gardens of Heaven will keep me from missing you so…”

And then, there, in Éponine’s lap, Cosette slipped from this life.

Éponine felt Cosette’s hand slacken, heard the breath leave her lungs, and watched the light leave her eyes. Crying harder than ever, she leaned down, gently closed Cosette’s eyes, and kissed her warm, pale lips softly.

She sat there for a few minutes, wondering hazily why no one had come to help, when Marius approached.

“We thought we heard you calling, but then you sto — is that Cosette?” he cried, and he crouched down, too, to see her.  
Marius looked over at Éponine, his eyes filled with tears. “I’ll take her — go — go rest..Éponine,” he said softly when she did not move. “I’m sorry, there’s…there’s nothing more you can do for her now.”

“I want to help carry her,” Éponine replied as Marius picked Cosette’s body up. It crossed her exhausted mind that Cosette looked like a rag doll in Marius’s arms...so helpless, so sad. So lifeless.

“But —”

“Let me help!” Éponine shrieked, jumping up. Cosette’s words raced over and over in her head.  _I feel safe with you_.

But there was nothing she could do, for Marius was much stronger than she, so she held Cosette’s lifeless hand as he led her into the basement, where the survivors, including the young boy, were arguing.

“If you kill him now, you waste — what on _earth_ happened?” Enjolras asked when he saw Éponine and Marius carrying Cosette. “We thought you —” his voice faltered when he saw Cosette.

Marius wordlessly laid Cosette on the floor in the back of the basement, where she would not be disturbed.

Éponine sat with her, waiting, hoping, that Cosette would join the land of the living once more.

*   *   *

Enjolras, Grantaire, and Marius tried to force Éponine to leave the barricades before the second attack.

They did not succeed in this endeavor.

“We don’t need you getting hurt, too —”

“You’re not in the right state of mind, ‘Ponine — and that’s coming from me. Listen to Enjolras, please, he knows what he’s talking about —”

“Be sensible, Éponine — we have a few extra army suits —”

“No!” She ripped her arm out of Enjolras’s grip. “I want to fight! I want to —” she stopped short. Out of shock now, she suddenly felt enraged. Pain filled her entire body, sorrow crept into her mind, and the spaces behind her eyes, strangely, ached as well, as if her brain was physically suffering, as well. “I want to kill them all!”

Enjolras looked worriedly at Marius, who looked worriedly at Grantaire, who looked to Enjolras, who finally shrugged and nodded at Marius.

Marius made to take her arm, but she recoiled, looking disgusted by the three of them.

“Éponine, no — _no!_ ” Marius said, grabbing a fighting Éponine by the shoulders. “Leave — go home!”

Except, without Cosette, there was no home for her to go to.

“— please, Éponine, you can’t stay here — you’ll get yourself killed —”

“So will you!” Éponine shouted back at Enjolras, so loudly that everyone in the basement fell silent. “We’re all going to die here, don’t you see?” She gave Marius a swift kick in the knee, and walked away when he released her.

No one argued with her after that.  
 

*   *   *

Éponine survived the night.

In fact, she was the only one who did at that particular barricade — save Marius.

It was all very fuzzy to her, the rest of the night, how she managed to dodge the bullets and the armies who had been commanded to execute each and every rebel. Even as the events unfolded, Éponine saw them in her mind’s eye with the edges blurred. But they both survived, and Marius got them to safety in his apartment.  
She was alive, but Cosette was not.

*   *   *

Marius did not ask her what happened between her and Cosette — not right away, at least. He allowed Éponine to gaze out the window, unmoving, repeating her and Cosette’s final exchange over and over again in her head. It was Marius who made sure she ate and drank, and Marius who had spoken to Cosette’s father when he came looking for his daughter. Éponine couldn’t say what Cosette’s father’s reaction was when he found out — she tuned that out, thinking she would fling herself out the window if she did otherwise.

She had scars, she supposed, but she did not notice them. Her body ached from any open wounds she may have procured from the fighting, but she did not feel them. She only felt the pain that courted the burning loss of someone you love. It was the kind of pain you felt inside, from the space between your breasts, and spread out, to your head and finger tips and toes. It was the kind of pain that left you numb, empty. The pain of a lost loved one could take her spirit away and bring a girl to her knees, clutching at the pain that buried itself deep inside.

Without a spirit, a person will find that is is hard to stand. Nearly impossible.

Éponine wanted to tear off her skin, reach deep inside for the pain and draw it out, but she couldn’t. She knew it would not change the incontrovertible.

Cosette was dead. Éponine was living.

Something about these facts seemed wrong in her mind, though. Perhaps she was dead. In, hell, maybe? A world still turning without Cosette? Hell, indeed. And it was all her fault…her stupid, stupid fault…had she not been so determined to walk into battle, Cosette wouldn’t have left to go find her…and now, the lark would sing no more…

Why didn’t she listen? Why didn’t she take a second to think? Why didn’t she take a moment to look around and see the gun aimed at here? Why did Cosette decide to jump in front of the gun meant for her? Now Cosette was gone, in another world…an angel.

Perhaps she was an angel who had guided Éponine out of the battle that night? Cosette had bravely…stupidly…jumped in front of a gun to protect Éponine while she was alive…perhaps Cosette managed to protect her, even in death? It almost killed Éponine to even consider that idea…no angels were watching over her…not now. 

Cosette was gone, as were her other friends: Enjolras…Grantaire…Joly…sweet Jehan, who used to talk to her about poetry…and Courfeyrac and Combeferre…and her urchin of a brother, Gavroche. She’d seen him die, too, and someone had to hold her back as the horrific scene played before her eyes…a little boy…her little brother…dead.

There were more, too, a handful, and Éponine wondered what kind of cruel world would allow some friends to die and some to survive. Enjolras always talked of the price they might pay…did he ever think that death was not the most costly of them all? That the worst, was, inarguably, still having air in your lungs while your friends did not?

_There is no glory in death_ , Éponine thought bitterly, still looking down at the women cleaning blood off the streets… _they_  hadn’t opened their doors… _they_  hadn’t risen with the rest of them…had they, maybe these sacrifices would’ve meant something…her friends would not have died in vain.

Or perhaps they would not have died at all.

Night fell again, the sign of a world that kept on turning, despite death, despite tragedy, despite a failed uprising. Éponine wondered how many more nights would come and go before she was in Heaven’s Garden with Cosette.  _There is no glory in death_ , she told herself as she slipped into a sleep that would undoubtably be filled with nightmares brimming with death and blood and Cosette’s unlit eyes. She pressed her cheek against the cool window pane, and shut her eyes.

_There is no glory in death_ , was Éponine’s final thought before she slipped into her troubled dream land,  _and there is certainly no glory in living when everyone else is gone._


End file.
